I was still reliving the kiss in the driveway when I got in the car to start my day. After swinging by the grocery store, I drove to Creekside. Instead of heading straight to the pond, however, I entered the building and walked to Noah’s room.
As always, the smell of antiseptic filled the air. Multicolored tiles and wide corridors reminded me of the hospital, and as I passed the entertainment room, I noticed that only a few of the tables and chairs were occupied. Two men were playing checkers in the corner, another few were watching a television that had been mounted on the wall. A nurse sat behind the main desk, her head bent1, impervious2 to my presence.
The sounds of television followed me as I made my way down the hall, and it was a relief to enter Noah’s room. Unlike so many of the guests here, whose rooms seemed largely devoid3 of anything personal, Noah had made his room into something he could call his own. A painting by Allie—a flowering pond and garden scene reminiscent of Monet—hung on the wall above his rocking chair. On the shelves stood dozens of pictures of the children and of Allie; others had been tacked4 to the wall. His cardigan sweater was draped over the edge of the bed, and in the corner sat the battered5 rolltop desk that had once occupied the far wall of the family room in their home. The desk had originally been Noah’s father’s, and its age was reflected in the notches6 and grooves7 and ink stains from the fountain pens that Noah had always favored. I knew that Noah sat here frequently in the evenings, for in the drawers were the possessions he treasured above all else: the hand-scripted notebook in which he’d memorialized his love affair with Allie, his leather-bound diaries whose pages were turning yellow with age, the hundreds of letters he’d written to Allie over the years, and the last letter she ever wrote to him. There were other items, too—dried flowers and newspaper clippings about Allie’s shows, special gifts from the children, the edition of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman that had been his companion throughout World War II. Perhaps I was exhibiting my instincts as an estate lawyer, but I wondered what would become of the items when Noah was finally gone. How would it be possible to distribute these things among the children? The easiest solution would be to give everything to the children equally, but that posed its own problems. Who, for instance, would keep the notebook in their home? Whose drawer would house the letters or his diaries? It was one thing to divide the major assets, but how was it possible to divide the heart?
The drawers were unlocked. Although Noah would be back in his room in a day or two, I searched them for the items he would want with him at the hospital, tucking them under my arm.
Compared to the air-conditioned building, the air outside was stifling8, and I started to perspire9 immediately. The courtyard was empty, as always. Walking along the gravel10 path, I looked for the root that had caused Noah’s fall. It took a moment for me to find it, at the base of a towering magnolia tree; it protruded11 across the path like a small snake stretching in the sun. The brackish12 pond reflected the sky like a mirror, and for a moment I watched the clouds drifting slowly across the water. There was a faint odor of brine as I took my seat. The swan appeared from the shallows at the far end of the pond and drifted toward me.
I opened the loaf of Wonder Bread and tore the first piece into small bits, the way Noah always did. Tossing the first piece into the water, I wondered whether he’d been telling the truth in the hospital. Had the swan stayed with him throughout his ordeal13? I had no doubt he saw the swan when he regained14 consciousness—the nurse who found him could vouch15 for that—but had the swan watched over him the whole time? Impossible to know for sure, but in my heart I believed it.
I wasn’t willing, however, to make the leap that Noah had. The swan, I told myself, had stayed because Noah fed and cared for it; it was more like a pet than a creature of the wild. It had nothing to do with Allie or her spirit. I simply couldn’t bring myself to believe that such things could happen. The swan ignored the piece of bread I’d thrown to it; instead it simply watched me. Strange. When I tossed another piece, the swan glanced at it before swinging its head back in my direction.
“Eat,” I said, “I’ve got things to do.”
Beneath the surface, I could see the swan’s feet moving slowly, just enough to keep it in place.
“C’mon,” I urged under my breath, “you ate for me before.” I threw a third piece into the water, less than a few inches from where the swan floated. I heard the gentle tap as it hit the water. Again, the swan made no move toward it.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I asked.
Behind me, I heard the sprinklers come on, spurting16 air and water in a steady rhythm. I glanced over my shoulder toward Noah’s room, but the window only reflected the sun’s glare. Wondering what else to do, I threw a fourth piece of bread without luck.
“He asked me to come here,” I said.
The swan straightened its neck and ruffled17 its wings. I suddenly realized that I was doing the same thing that provoked concern about Noah: talking to the swan and pretending it could understand me.
Pretending it was Allie?
Of course not, I thought, pushing the voice away. People talked to dogs and cats, they talked to plants, they sometimes screamed at sporting events on the television. Jane and Kate shouldn’t be so concerned, I decided18. Noah spent hours here every day; if anything, they should worry if he didn’t talk to the swan. Then again, talking was one thing. Believing it was Allie was another. And Noah truly believed it.
The pieces of bread that I’d thrown were gone now. Waterlogged, they’d dissolved and sunk beneath the surface, but still the swan continued to watch me. I threw yet another piece, and when the swan made no move toward it, I glanced around to make sure that no one else was watching. Why not? I finally decided, and with that, I leaned forward.
“He’s doing fine,” I said. “I saw him yesterday and talked to the doctor this morning. He’ll be here tomorrow.”
The swan seemed to contemplate19 my words, and a moment later, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise as the swan began to eat.
At the hospital, I thought I’d entered the wrong room. In all my years with Noah, I’d never seen him watch television. Though he had one in his home, it had been primarily for the children when they were young, and by the time I came into their lives, it was seldom turned on. Instead, most evenings were spent on the porch, where stories were told. Sometimes the family sang as Noah played guitar; other times they simply talked over the hum of crickets and cicadas. On cooler evenings, Noah would light a fire and the family would do the same things in the living room. On other nights, each of them would simply curl up on the couch or in the rocking chairs to read. For hours, the only sounds were of pages turning as all escaped into a different world, albeit20 in proximity21 to one another.
It was a throwback to an earlier era, one that cherished family time above all, and I looked forward to those evenings. They reminded me of those nights with my father as he worked on his ships and made me realize that while television was regarded as a form of escape, there was nothing calming or peaceful about it. Noah had always managed to avoid it. Until this morning. Pushing open the door, I was assaulted by the noise of the television. Noah was propped22 up in bed and staring at the screen. In my hand were the items I’d brought with me from his desk.
“Hello, Noah,” I said, but instead of responding with his usual greeting, he turned toward me with a look of incredulity.
“C’mere,” he said, motioning toward me, “you won’t believe what they’re showing right now.”
I moved into the room. “What are you watching?”
“I don’t know,” he said, still focused on the screen. “Some kind of talk show. I thought it would be like Johnny Carson, but it’s not. You can’t imagine what they’re talking about.”
My mind immediately conjured23 up a series of vulgar programs, the kind that always made me wonder how their producers could sleep at night. Sure enough, the station was tuned24 to one of them. I didn’t need to know the topic to know what he’d seen; for the most part, they all featured the same disgusting topics, told as luridly25 as possible by guests whose single goal, it seemed, was to be on television, no matter how degraded they were made to look. “Why would you choose a show like that?”
“I didn’t even know it was on,” he explained. “I was looking for the news, then there was a commercial, and this came on. And when I saw what was going on, I couldn’t help but watch. It was like staring at an accident on the side of the highway.”
I sat on the bed beside him. “That bad?”
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be young these days. Society’s going downhill fast, and I’m glad that I won’t be around to see it crash.” I smiled. “You’re sounding your age, Noah.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” He shook his head and picked up the remote. A moment later, the room was quiet.
I set down the items I’d brought from his room.
“I thought you might like these to help you pass the time. Unless you’d rather watch television, of course.”
His face softened26 as he saw the stack of letters and Whitman’s Leaves of Grass.
The pages of the book, thumbed through a thousand times, looked almost swollen27.
He ran his finger over the tattered28 cover. “You’re a good man, Wilson,” he said.
“I take it you just went to the pond.”
“Four pieces in the morning,” I informed him.
“How was she today?”
I shifted on the bed, wondering how to answer.
“I think she missed you,” I offered at last.
He nodded, pleased. Shifting up straighter in the bed, he asked, “So Jane’s off with Anna?”
“They’re probably still driving. They left an hour ago.”
“And Leslie?”
“She’s meeting them in Raleigh.”
“This is really going to be something,” he said. “The weekend, I mean. How’s everything from your end? With the house?”
“So far, so good,” I started. “My hope is that it’ll be ready by Thursday, and I’m pretty sure it will be.”
“What’s on your agenda today?”
I told him what I planned, and when I finished, he whistled appreciatively.
“Sounds like you’ve got quite a bit on your plate,” he said.
“I suppose,” I said. “But so far, I’ve been lucky.”
“I’ll say,” he said. “Except for me, of course. My stumble could have ruined everything.”
“I told you I’ve been lucky.”
He raised his chin slightly. “What about your anniversary?” he asked. My mind flashed to the many hours I’d spent preparing for the anniversary—all the phone calls, all the trips to the post office box and various stores. I’d worked on the gift during spare moments in the office and at lunchtime and had thought long and hard about the best way to present it. Everyone in the office knew what I’d planned, although they’d been sworn to secrecy29. More than that, they’d been incredibly supportive; the gift was not something I could have put together alone.
“Thursday night,” I said. “It seems like it’ll be the only chance we get. She’s gone tonight, tomorrow she’ll probably want to see you, and on Friday, Joseph and Leslie will be here. Of course, Saturday’s out for obvious reasons.” I paused. “I just hope she likes it.”
He smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Wilson. You couldn’t have picked a better gift if you had all the money in the world.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am. And I can’t imagine a better start to the weekend.” The sincerity30 in his voice warmed me, and I was touched that he seemed so fond of me, despite how different we were.
“You’re the one who gave me the idea,” I reminded him. Noah shook his head. “No,” he said, “it was all you. Gifts of the heart can’t be claimed by anyone except the giver.” He patted his chest to emphasize the point. “Allie would love what you’ve done,” he remarked. “She was always a softie when it came to things like this.”
I folded my hands in my lap. “I wish she could be there this weekend.” Noah glanced at the stack of letters. I knew he was imagining Allie, and for a brief moment, he looked strangely younger.
“So do I,” he said.
Heat seemed to scald the soles of my feet as I walked through the parking lot. In the distance, buildings looked as if they were made of liquid, and I could feel my shirt tacking31 itself to my back.
Once in the car, I headed for the winding32 country roads that were as familiar as the streets of my own neighborhood. There was an austere33 beauty to the coastal34 lowlands, and I wove past farms and tobacco barns that looked almost abandoned. Strands35 of loblolly pines separated one farm from the next, and I caught sight of a tractor moving in the distance, a cloud of dirt and dust rising behind it. From certain points in the road, it was possible to see the Trent River, the slow waters rippling36 in the sunlight. Oaks and cypress37 trees lined the banks, their white trunks and knotted roots casting gnarled shadows. Spanish moss38 hung from the branches, and as the farms gradually gave way to forest, I imagined that the sprawling39 trees I saw from behind my windshield were the same trees that both Union and Confederate soldiers had seen when they marched through the area.
In the distance, I saw a tin roof reflecting the sun; next came the house itself; and a few moments later I was at Noah’s.
As I surveyed the house from the tree-lined drive, I thought it looked abandoned. Off to the side was the faded red barn where Noah stored lumber40 and equipment; numerous holes now dotted the sides, and the tin roof was caked with rust41. His workshop, where he had spent most of his hours during the day, was directly behind the house. The swinging doors hung crookedly42, and the windows were coated with dirt. Just beyond that was the rose garden that had become as overgrown as the banks along the river. The caretaker, I noticed, hadn’t mowed43 recently, and the once grassy44 lawn resembled a wild meadow. I parked next to the house, pausing for a moment to study it. Finally, I fished the key from my pocket, and after unlocking the door, I pushed it open. Sunlight immediately crossed the floor.
With the windows boarded, it was otherwise dark, and I made a note to turn on the generator45 before I left. After my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could make out the features of the house. Directly in front of me were the stairs that led to the bedrooms; on my left was a long, wide family room that stretched from the front of the house to the back porch. It was here, I thought, that we would put the tables for the reception, for the room could easily accommodate everyone.
The house smelled of dust, and I could see traces of it on the sheets that draped the furniture. I knew I’d have to remind the movers that each piece was an antique dating from the original construction of the house. The fireplace was inlaid with hand-painted ceramic46 tile; I remembered Noah telling me that when he’d replaced the ones that had cracked, he’d been relieved to discover that the original manufacturer was still in business. In the corner was a piano—also covered by a sheet—that had been played not only by Noah’s children, but by the grandchildren as well.
On either side of the fireplace were three windows. I tried to imagine what the room would look like when it was ready, but standing47 in the darkened house, I couldn’t. Though I had pictured how I wanted it to look—and even described my ideas to Jane—being inside the house evoked48 memories that made changing its appearance seem impossible.
How many evenings had Jane and I spent here with Noah and Allie? Too many to count, and if I concentrated, I could almost hear the sounds of laughter and the rise and fall of easy conversation.
I’d come here, I suppose, because the events of the morning had only deepened my nagging49 sense of nostalgia50 and longing51. Even now, I could feel the softness of Jane’s lips against my own and taste the lipstick52 she’d been wearing. Were things really changing between us? I desperately53 wanted to think so, but I wondered whether I was simply projecting my own feelings onto Jane. All I knew for certain was that for the first time in a long time, there was a moment, just a moment, when Jane seemed as happy with me as I was with her.
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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impervious
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| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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tacked
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| 用平头钉钉( tack的过去式和过去分词 )； 附加，增补； 帆船抢风行驶，用粗线脚缝 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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notches
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| n.（边缘或表面上的）V型痕迹( notch的名词复数 )；刻痕；水平；等级 | |
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grooves
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| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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perspire
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| vi.出汗，流汗 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brackish
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| adj.混有盐的；咸的 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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vouch
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| v.担保；断定；n.被担保者 | |
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spurting
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的现在分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺； 溅射 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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tuned
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| adj.调谐的，已调谐的v.调音( tune的过去式和过去分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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luridly
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| adv. 青灰色的(苍白的, 深浓色的, 火焰等火红的) | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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31
tacking
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| （帆船）抢风行驶，定位焊[铆]紧钉 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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austere
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| adj.艰苦的；朴素的，朴实无华的；严峻的 | |
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coastal
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| adj.海岸的，沿海的，沿岸的 | |
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strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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40
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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crookedly
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| adv. 弯曲地，不诚实地 | |
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43
mowed
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| v.刈，割( mow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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generator
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| n.发电机，发生器 | |
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ceramic
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| n.制陶业，陶器，陶瓷工艺 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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49
nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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50
nostalgia
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| n.怀乡病，留恋过去，怀旧 | |
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51
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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52
lipstick
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| n.口红，唇膏 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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